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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27046603">Waking Every Morning But It’s Not With You</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AU_Ruler/pseuds/AU_Ruler'>AU_Ruler</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>faded colours and stars [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Divergence, Constellation AU, Grief, Past Character Death, Whumptober 2020, della duck constellation au, no.19, survivor's guilt, webby is a duck kid, webby vanderquack? more like webby vanderduck am i right</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 19:28:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,334</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27046603</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AU_Ruler/pseuds/AU_Ruler</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes she feels she might as well be</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Della Duck/Selene (background)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>faded colours and stars [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1968796</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Whumptober 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Waking Every Morning But It’s Not With You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Look to the stars, my darling little ones; life is strange and vast; </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>filled of wonders and joys; </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Face each new sun with eyes clear and true; </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>unafraid of the unknown; </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Because I'll face it all with you</span>
  </em>
  <span>’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Della bit her lip with a sigh, running her hand down the smooth surface of the orb. There was a split image on it, her boys in their bed on the top, Webby in her’s on the bottom. It was a ritual she started when the boys were still in their eggs. Every night she'd sing the same lullaby. Through the years as she watched them grow, she was happy to see Donald continue it. It was nice to sing the lullaby with him again. Even if he couldn't hear her voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, she’d kept an eye on Uncle Scrooge too. It was different from watching Donald. She hesitated to say ‘sadder’. Both were rather sad, especially near the beginning. But Uncle Scrooge had always been greyer. Unlike Donald, at the beginning he had no one. It was just him. Della almost felt like she could feel the lack of warmth through the orb.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That changed slightly, though not by much, when Mrs. Beakley moved in. Along with her granddaughter. Della smiled a little and ran her finger along the orb where it stayed on Webby as she slept. The girl was the same age as her brothers. And just as adventurous. In her own way, trapped as she was in the mansion. She reminded Della a lot of herself and a lot of Donald and a lot of Selene. Just as the boys did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pressed against the orb, absently requesting it to change scene. Donald was back in the living room. Something that was really just the entrance to the houseboat. A small place with a small tv set on one side and a kitchen on the other. He was at the counter, flipping through a book he only ever looked at once the boys were in bed. It was a book she knew well. Though it was missing multiple pages, ever since Donald had ripped them out. She hadn’t seen that. But she didn't need to. The scrapbook barely held anything of Uncle Scrooge now. Just pictures of her and Donald and Fethry and Gladstone. In the orb she saw a tear run down his beak. Many more followed its trail. Della’s heart clenched and she wished she could reach out through the orb to provide some comfort. But as she touched it’s cool surface her eyes caught the star in her feathers. And she remembered she could never give that comfort again. Her own eyes grew red. Hot streaks went down her cheeks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once before Selene had attempted to get her to visit them. But she couldn’t. How could she? Everyone else thought she was dead. She was alive, but everyone thought she was dead. There was no way she could visit them. It had been too many years. Too much grief for them all. A hole rested in Donald and Uncle Scrooge. One </span>
  <em>
    <span>she’d</span>
  </em>
  <span> caused. After so long, how could she possibly stand in front of them and confirm their belief. That she’d died. And tell them that ‘it’s okay, it was brief and now i have a place among the stars’. Tell them that Selene took her soul and made it a body of stardust and heat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roughly she rubbed at her eyes. Then she changed it to Uncle Scrooge. He was at his desk, head on his crossed arms. His body moved as he breathed. Deep and even. Even now he worked to try and bring her back. Despite being torn from the command console and banned from using any of the money bin’s money. She sighed. Eventually he'd have to give it up. Though it was unlikely he would. Maybe he'd take a break, but he'd always come back to it. Once Uncle Scrooge put his mind to something, one day he'd get it done. Except for this, he couldn't.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hadn't been in space for seven years.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a sigh she pressed on the orb again. The surface became opaque.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The sun filtered into the boy’s room on the houseboat as Webby’s alarm went off in her own room in the mansion. Webby shut the alarm off and fixed her bed. Huey jumped up as the first ray of light hit him. They both fixed their beds with hospital corners. To Junior Woodchuck regulation for Huey (he'd only just started two months ago, and he loved it so much already) and to Mrs. Beakley regulation for Webby. The little spy in training jumped down from her room, ignoring the ladder. Just as Della herself had done, back when she used that room as a secret hideout. On the other half of the orb she watched Huey sneak out to the kitchen. When the boys were five, Donald had banned them from using the stove. They were too young and it was dangerous, he'd said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was right after Dewey had almost burned the houseboat down trying to make pancakes. She'd laughed then. Remembering Uncle Scrooge’s blackened oven and the angry Duckworth when she'd done the same at his age while making eggs. There was something painful in Donald’s expression once everything had calmed. The realization that he must've had the same memory had been sobering.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Back in the boys’ room, Dewey began to stir. Louie still snored away in the middle of their bed. The top of the orb stayed on him as Dewey left. She brushed her hand along its surface where he was. He'd likely sleep for another hour, if no one woke him. A smile curled her beak. Fethry had always been the same way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The orb’s picture was still split in half. Below Louie, Webby was getting ready for the day. She was struggling to tie her hair up, pieces of her hair falling from her bow until she gave up, only tying up a portion at the side of her head. Della smiled, chuckling. Every morning it went like that. Still, Webby tried. Eventually she'd get it, Della was sure. Afterward she went down to the kitchen and jumped on the counter to grab cereal from the cabinet. She willed the top half to show Dewey again to see him do the same.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes closed. In the darkness behind her eyelids she imagined being there with them. They'd all be living with Uncle Scrooge. She'd enter the kitchen to see Webby climbing up onto the counter with Dewey on the floor directing her to the cabinet and shelf with the cereal they wanted. Both would look at her when she entered. Worried, guilt looks mirroring. Just like when her and Gladstone had done the same. And just like Uncle Scrooge she'd simply smile and grab the box for them. As Webby ate she'd take the ribbon and tie up her daughter’s hair. Later, Donald would complain about how much sugar the cereal had. Yet he'd still grab his own bowl. They'd eat it dry together. Watching as the kids played and laughed in the front yard. Uncle Scrooge would show up behind them. He'd sip his tea with a fond smile. The kids would fall in a circle on the green grass and Donald and her would meet eyes, the same memory playing in their heads of a similar moment in their childhood with Fethry and Gladstone. Their uncle would set his cup down and wrap his arms around their shoulders. Pull them close into a hug. Everything would be bright, and warm, and happy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She opened her eyes. And the image vanished. Hotness dripped down her beak. Heavy with what couldn't be. Just as she'd done last night, she roughly wiped at her eyes. Then she let the images fade from the orb. It went opaque as she left the room. Off to find Selene and maybe a distraction.</span>
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